


Candles in the Wind

by geekogecko (Jedijae)



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Depression, F/M, Infant Death, Loss, Multi, OAFQ prequel, Prequel, coping badly, hints of polyamory, ice bros and frohana gone awry, post-partum depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jedijae/pseuds/geekogecko
Summary: Heartbreak and loss.  Intimacy and betrayal.  A relationship borne of coping and grief morphs into love and life as Kristoff and Elsa grapple with change in the one they love most.  Sometimes secrets can't be kept, no matter how hard one might try.  A prequel to The Once and Future Queen.Dedicated to Sue, aka Grrlgeek72.  I miss you, my friend.
Relationships: Anna & Elsa (Disney), Anna/Kristoff (Disney), Elsa & Kristoff (Disney), Elsa/Kristoff (Disney)
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

The Royal Physician rose from his seat at the end of the birthing bed, rearranging the linens to cover Anna’s lower body. “Your Majesty, Master Kristoff…we’ve done all we can for now,” he said.

Elsa pressed her lips to Anna’s hand and lifted her head to look at him. Doctor Lindahl’s dark eyebrows pinched together, deepening the always-visible creases between them, but other than that, the expression on his narrow face held neither hope nor sorrow.

“I’ve stopped the bleeding, but I don’t know if she’s lost too much to recover. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Elsa swallowed around the ache in her throat as she fought back tears. She touched Anna’s cheek, tracing gentle lines between freckles that stood out more starkly than usual, her normally ruddy cheeks deathly pale. Her hair, damp and tangled, splayed in stringy red tendrils across the pillow. Her chest rose and fell in a slow but steady rhythm, and for a moment, Elsa could almost convince herself that her sister was simply sleeping.

Except that Anna was never this still, even when in the deepest slumber.

Elsa looked over at Kristoff, who paced by the window, his son cradled in his arms. He seemed to not have heard Doctor Lindahl’s words, his gaze locked on the tiny bundle he held. Save the occasional squeak of the floorboards, his footfalls were nearly silent, and Elsa heard him crooning softly, singing a nonsense song to a child who would never hear it.

The baby had come early. Too early. His tiny lungs underdeveloped, he had not drawn even a single breath after the midwife guided him from Anna’s womb. But as small as he was, his delivery had still taken an awful toll on his mother. 

Elsa had never seen so much blood. The smell of it hung in the air, its metallic tang mixing thickly with the odors of antiseptic fluids and fecund exertion. Her own fear-sweat added to the pungent mix, and her hand trembled as she brushed a few stray hairs off Anna’s forehead.

Britta, the midwife, approached Kristoff. “Sir,” she said, her normally brisk, capable manner now gentle, “if I may…?” She held out her hands.

Kristoff just stared at her blankly. Britta tried to take the baby from him, but he shook his head and turned away with a grunt, cradling the blanketed bundle tighter. Even in the dim lamplight, Elsa saw Kristoff’s throat bob, could see his body stiffen.

Elsa kissed Anna’s forehead, then rose and went over to her brother-in-law. “Kristoff,” she said quietly, laying a gentle hand on his forearm. He met her gaze, his brown eyes glassy with unshed tears. She touched his cheek, then held out her arms. After a brief hesitation, he placed the baby in them.

Elsa moved the blanket aside to look at her stillborn nephew. His tiny face was serene beneath a smattering of strawberry-blond fuzz. But despite the serenity, it was…wrong. Instead of the pink of life, his delicate skin held a pale translucence, eerily similar to one of her ice sculptures, his little blue-tinged lips pursed for a cry that would never come. 

Now her tears did well up, escaping her lashes to fall onto the baby’s cheek. _Oh, little one, I’m so sorry_. She clutched the too-small, too-still baby to her chest, touching her forehead to his as she rocked him back and forth.

“Your Majesty, please, let Britta have the baby. She will see to his preparations,” Doctor Lindahl said. 

She used the corner of the blanket to dry the baby’s face, then closed her eyes, summoning a bit of her magic. A faint blue glow pulsed around his body as she passed her hand over him. There. Now he could lie on his little bier without Nature taking her toll, and his mother would get to see him at least once if she woke.

 _When_ , Elsa told herself fiercely as her magic prickled uneasily beneath her skin. _Not if._ When _his mother wakes up_.

She heard Kristoff’s sharp intake of breath and wondered if she’d made a mistake. She looked up to see him blinking at her, his mouth slightly open.

“Thank you,” he whispered, reaching over to brush a knuckle gently over his son’s cheek, where a single ice crystal winked in the lamplight before fading away.

She eased the blanket back across the baby’s face and handed him to Britta. The midwife gathered him close, cradling him with a gentleness belied by her broad hands and muscular forearms. 

“You and Master Kristoff should get some rest. I will have someone stay with Princess Anna all night. We will let you know if she wakes up, or if anything changes.” Doctor Lindahl gave them a brief bow before leaving, trailed by Britta.

Elsa nodded, deliberately not thinking about what “anything” might be. She swiped the tears from her cheeks, then took Kristoff’s arm and tried to steer him toward the door. “You should rest, Kristoff,” she said. “I’ll stay with her.”

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving. If there’s any chance she’ll wake up, I want to be here.” He pulled away from her and sat in the chair he had occupied earlier, where he had stayed during the whole awful labor, holding Anna’s hand, absorbing her curses and stroking her hair. He propped his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Elsa moved her chair around the bed to sit next to him. 

Two nurses moved around the bed with quiet efficiency, cleaning Anna up and shifting her gently as they changed the blood-soaked linens and added fresh pillows. The crisp white pillowcases added to the illusion that Anna was merely sleeping, and Elsa found herself listening for her sister’s soft snores.

“It’s my fault,” Kristoff said finally, his voice quiet. “I know the doctor said we shouldn’t try to have any more after Jørgen, but…”

Prince Jørgen, Kristoff and Anna’s first child, was a healthy, active two-year-old who was the delight of everyone in the Castle. He had been a round, squishy, red-faced tot who had opened his soft pink mouth and announced his arrival with a lusty squall loud enough to awaken half the kingdom. But he had been a big baby, too big, really, for Anna’s slender frame. His birth had been long and difficult, and both Doctor Lindahl and Britta had advised against any more pregnancies. Anna, who dreamed of a large family, had been bitterly disappointed.

Elsa had been quietly relieved. When Jørgen was born, her excitement at his impending arrival had been quickly overwhelmed by fear for Anna’s life. Nothing had prepared her to hear Anna’s blood-curdling screams, to see her sister writhe in the grip of the remorseless, spine-wrenching contractions. She wanted to scream herself, to threaten the doctor with permanent frostbite if he didn’t _make it_ _stop_. The struggle to keep her powers contained had become a labor of its own.

Her own pain – the sharp ice inside, always stabbing and probing for its freedom, the terror of revealing herself, of hurting someone – that pain, she could bear. But she could not bear Anna’s. 

To her shame, she had found herself wondering how much she could love the baby if his birth took Anna away from her.

So she had been surprised – and more than a little worried - when Anna had announced that she was pregnant again. 

Elsa _wanted_ to be angry with Kristoff. Wanted to agree with him, wanted it to be his fault. Wanted to have someone, _anyone_ , at whose feet she could lay this whole thing. It would be so easy to blame him for this, for his lack of control over his urges, for his inability to say _no_.

But she knew better. Anna was a creature of great passion. Neither she nor Kristoff had ever really been able to resist her.

Besides, she knew exactly where the responsibility lay.

“It’s not your fault, Kristoff. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. What happened on the fjord…” _When I killed my little sister._ “…there’s no way that didn’t affect her body, her health…” Elsa’s voice cracked a little as she tried to push back the ice that surged beneath her skin. Her palms itched with the urge to release it. She clasped her hands to her chest.

Kristoff and Anna’s baby was dead. Anna could soon follow, and it would be on her. An image of the baby, his skin the same color as Anna’s on the fjord, rose in her mind’s eye. Suddenly there didn’t seem to be nearly enough air in the room.

“No.” Kristoff’s large hand wrapped around hers, tightening when she started to pull away, not letting her give in to her still-instinctive urge to shy away, even from those she loved, that seized her when her magic was churning inside her. He tugged her closer, his arm coming around her shoulders. “Deep breaths,” he instructed.

Elsa leaned against him, trying to match her breathing to his. In through her nose. Hold. Out slowly. His large, solid warmth was comforting, and some of the tension left her as her breathing evened out and her magic settled. He squeezed her hand and kissed the top of her head. 

“I’m not going to let you blame yourself for this, Elsa,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m the one who…I couldn’t…but I guess neither one of us has ever really been able to tell her ‘no’, have we?” A sound escaped him, one that seemed caught between a soft chuckle and a choked sob. A little shudder went through him, and Elsa wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

“No, we haven’t.” _Though I’m not sure how hard we really tried._ Elsa nestled closer to him and laced her fingers with his. They waited together, watching over the person who was the center of their world.

*******

* * *

“Master Kristoff!”

“Wha?” Kristoff jerked awake when a hand shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Doctor Lindahl looming over him, a scowl on his thin face. Disoriented, Kristoff peered at him owlishly. What the hell was the doctor doing here?

“The nurses inform me that both you and Her Majesty stayed here all night, after I advised you to get some rest,” Lindahl said indignantly.

“Uh…yeah.” Kristoff grimaced and rubbed his neck. The strong smell of antiseptics lingering around Lindahl cleared his head, bringing everything back. The infirmary. The baby. The awful hollow emptiness in his chest at the feel of the tiny, silent bundle of blankets that Britta had placed in his arms. His terror at the sight of his wife, lying unmoving in the blood-soaked sheets of the birthing bed.

A quick glance at Anna confirmed that nothing had changed. She still lay unconscious, the first rays of dawn highlighting her ashen face. Her hair, spread limp and lifeless across the white pillow, bore little resemblance to the wild mane of her usual mornings. The matted red coils reminded him unnervingly of the blood from the night before. Fear squeezed his chest again, and he reached out a shaking hand to tuck them back around her face.

Next to him, Elsa dozed, bowed forward in her chair, her head resting on Anna’s bed, her hand still wrapped around Anna’s. She stirred when Kristoff shook her shoulder, lifting her head to blink at him. He couldn’t help but smile a little - she had the bleary-eyed look of a small child unwillingly pulled from a nap, with stray hairs stuck to her face and creases from the bedclothes on her cheek. She straightened up with a little groan, pressing her hand against her lower back.

“Hmph,” Lindahl grunted, unsympathetic. “Chairs are not designed for sleeping. You should have gone to bed like I told you to.”

“We couldn’t leave her,” Elsa said hoarsely. She wrapped Anna’s hand in both of hers and pressed her lips to it.

Doctor Lindahl’s expression softened. “I understand, Your Majesty, but you will do no one – your sister or your citizens – any good if you push yourself to the point of collapse. Please. At least go have something to eat and try to take a nap.” He crossed his arms and glared at them. “Besides, I need to examine the Princess, and I can’t do that with the two of you underfoot!”

Kristoff opened his mouth to tell the sour-faced little man that he wasn’t going anywhere. If he wasn’t in the way during the hellish twenty-four hours of Anna’s labor, then he wasn’t going to be in the way during a fifteen-minute examination. But he quickly closed it when he saw the stubborn set of Elsa’s jaw, along with the dark smudges under her eyes.

Maybe he didn’t need to rest, but it was obvious that Elsa did. It was also just as obvious that Lindahl was not going to be able to make her leave.

He stood and stretched, then took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “You need some rest. And some food.” He put his hand on her back and steered her toward the door.

She stopped in her tracks, eyes narrowed at him, her chin thrust out in that same obstinate way that Anna had when she knew she should do something but didn’t want to. Even if it was for her own good. “Kristoff - ”

“I mean it, Elsa. You’re still the Queen, and you can’t put your own health at risk.” 

“But Anna…I should be here…” Elsa closed her eyes as she swayed on her feet. Kristoff caught her arm and steadied her.

“Yes, Anna needs you. I need you too.” He brushed her cheek with his fingers, then tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But it’s more than just us.”

“But –”

“I already told you I’m not running any Council meetings,” he reminded her. “So you’re not allowed to make yourself sick. Unless you want to find your kingdom in chaos and your Council short a couple of members?”

Elsa raised an eyebrow, but a ghost of a smile played over her lips. “You’re playing dirty, you know that?”

“Hey, you’re the one who taught me to use all the pieces on the board.”

She shook her head ruefully. “Yes, I suppose I did.” 

She allowed him to take her arm and guide her out of the infirmary. She stumbled a few times as they made their way upstairs, clearly more exhausted than she was willing to admit. The guard at the door to the residential wing, a sergeant of the Queen’s Own – Kristoff fumbled mentally for his name but could not come up with it – stiffened to attention as they approached. His alert expression and crisply pressed green uniform stood in stark contrast to their bedraggled states. His eyes widened a bit at the sight of Elsa, who rarely appeared outside the residence looking anything other than perfectly put together.

“Good morning, Your Majesty, Master Bjorgman,” he murmured, giving them a slight bow as he opened the door for them.

“Good morning, Sergeant Gaski,” Elsa said pleasantly. Evidently sleep deprivation hadn’t affected _her_ recall.

The royal family’s private residence was separate from the rest of the castle, and Kristoff could almost feel Elsa wilt as Gaski closed the door behind them. When they reached the Queen’s chambers, Kristoff ushered her into the suite. “I’m going to check on Jørgen and then I’ll go back and sit with her when the doctor is done looking at her. I promise I’ll send for you if anything changes.” 

“But you need to rest too,” she protested.

“I’ll be fine. Elsa, please. You’re about to fall over already.” Kristoff marched her across the sitting room to her bedchamber. “I’m not leaving until you change and go to bed.” He crossed his arms and stared down at her sternly.

“ _Fine_.” She rolled her eyes. 

She disappeared into her dressing room, returning a few minutes later in a light purple nightgown. She crawled into the bed. Once she was settled under the blankets, she scowled up at him. “Satisfied?”

“For now.” His head ached with fatigue, and the empty space next to her seemed to call to him. To hide his yawn, he turned away and pulled the tie on one of the bedcurtains, letting it down to shield her from the morning light filtering through her balcony doors. “Stay here and try to get some sleep. If you don’t, I’ll tell Gerda on you.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Are you threatening your Queen?”

“Absolutely.” He kissed her forehead and left, promising again to send word if anything changed with Anna. 

Back in the corridor, he sagged against the wall. Elsa was right – he needed to sleep. It had taken all of his will not to just crawl into the bed beside her and hold her as a shield against his dreams. Dreams that he knew would be drenched in Anna’s blood and echo with the sounds of her screams. He squeezed his eyes shut against the images of her beautiful face, twisted in pain while he could do nothing more than hold her hand and look on helplessly, mumbling useless platitudes. He rarely thought of himself as a coward, but the reality of it all was still too raw to risk reliving it in his sleep.

The loud crash of breaking dishes came from down the hall, followed by a child’s furious yell and the nanny’s frustrated voice. _Huh. Cook must’ve made oatmeal for breakfast again_.

He ran his hand over his face and rubbed his gritty eyes. Then he pushed himself off the wall and set off to rescue the nanny from the wrath of his two-year old.


	2. Chapter 2

Elsa watched in horror as white streaks reappeared in Anna’s hair. _No, no, no!_

“Your Majesty?”

Elsa started. _Did I doze off?_ She blinked at her Trade Minister, Knut Hofstad, who was watching her expectantly from his place halfway down the long Council table.

Frost sparkled on the chair arms beneath her hands. She bit back a curse and loosened her grip. Her eyes swept the Council Chamber. The frost seemed confined to the small patches on her chair, none of the Council members were shivering, no one’s warm breath clouded in the room. Elsa’s distress apparently had gone no further than her fingertips.

This time, at least.

She pushed away the mental images of Anna’s white-streaked hair and tried to focus on her Council meeting. “I’m sorry, Minister, could you repeat that?”

Minister Hofstad, a stout red-faced man nearly as wide as he was tall, looked offended, but said, “There are still a few points of contention, but I believe we will get most of what we want.”

Elsa blinked at him again. _What is he talking about?_ She glanced down at the report on the table in front of her. _Oh right, the fishing rights negotiations_. 

“Thank you, Minister Hofstad. I look forward to your next report on the matter,” she lied.

She heard a soft snort and saw Admiral Thorssen, her lean, hard-faced Master of the Sword and Minister of Defense, pull out his pocket watch. She snuck a peek at the tall clock standing in the far corner. _Oh my God, has Hofstad really been talking for thirty minutes?_ No wonder Thorssen looked so irritated.

She couldn’t remember a word Hofstad had said. Had she slept through his entire report?

The amused looks on the faces of her other Council members told her that yes, she probably had. She felt her cheeks heat up. 

Chancellor Sundtoft rescued her. “Your Majesty, I believe that concludes our business,” she said. She gave the other council members a gimlet eye from behind her wire-rimmed spectacles, as if daring them to object. No one did; despite her grandmotherly appearance, the Chancellor had a sharp tongue that she did not hesitate to use as a whiplash on those who incurred her ire. “With your permission?”

Elsa nodded and shot her a mental _thank you_. The Chancellor had previously served as her Regent and seemed to have an innate sense of when Elsa was nearing the end of her rope. She straightened her papers and stood, signaling that the meeting was adjourned. Chair legs scraped against the floor as everyone rose and bowed. 

Elsa left the Council Room feeling that she had accomplished little. She had decided to go ahead with this meeting rather than inconvenience her Council members, all of whom had busy schedules of their own. She had also hoped that it would take her mind off of Anna for a bit. It didn’t. When she wasn’t thinking about Anna, evidently she was dozing and dreaming about Anna.

At least there had been no talk of Anna’s condition in the Council Chamber. Not that she would have tolerated it, at any rate. The Council knew of the baby’s stillbirth – Kai had officially informed them – but Elsa was not ready for any discussion about her sister while Anna still lay unconscious.

Such discussions inevitably turned from the well-being of the Princess to the subject of Elsa and when she would finally select from among her myriad suitors, marry, and produce an heir of her own body. Like Anna and Jørgen counted for nothing at all. They were Frostahls too. One day Anna would be Queen, and Jørgen would follow her as King.

“Your Majesty!”

Elsa stiffened at the sound of Baron Fjersberg’s voice. Her Foreign Minister was one of the more vocal of the Council’s “Her Majesty Needs to Marry and Start a Family” faction. She had a sudden urge to ice the floor beneath his feet and make her escape.

Instead, she turned to toward him, schooling her face into an expression of polite interest. “Yes, Minister?”

Fjersberg, a trim, neat little man, gave her a small bow as he approached, his pince-nez wobbling on the tip of his thin nose. “My wife and I want to express our personal condolences. I know this must be a difficult time for you. We are praying for the Princess’ recovery.”

“Thank you.”

Fjersberg clasped his hands behind his back and peered up at her. He cleared his throat several times – a habit that grated Elsa’s nerves – then said, “Your Majesty, I wanted to bring to your attention several letters that came through my office. I gave them to Chamberlain Kai. There are the usual ambassadorial appointment notices, but,” – he cleared his throat again – “there is one in particular, from Grand Duke Chapend of Osnad. His second son –”

Only years of practice kept her face neutral and the temperature stable. She caught a few more words – trade, alliance, _marriage_ – while she contemplated freezing various parts of Fjersberg’s anatomy. Starting with his tongue. _I cannot believe he is bringing this up now._

“I’ll have a look at the letters, Minister,” she said coldly, cutting him off. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a number of other matters that require my attention.” 

She turned on her heel and stalked off toward her office. For all of Fjersberg’s vast experience and deft diplomatic skills, he seemed remarkably clueless to his ability to rankle his Queen. Elsa had to keep reminding herself that he was the best person for the job; his appearance and mannerisms were uncomfortably reminiscent of the Duke of Weselton. But that wasn’t really his fault. 

That didn’t mean he had to keep pestering her about heirs, though.

She stepped into her office, where she found that the stack of papers in her in-basket seemed to have doubled overnight. 

_I swear, if you leave two pieces of paper alone on a desk, they will reproduce like rabbits._

She sat down and sifted through the stacks. A thick proposal on cod fisheries outside Arendelle Fjord. A request for a royal grant to study reindeer migration patterns through the Northern Pass. An update from one of her trade representatives on the ongoing fishing rights negotiations with Corona. 

Any one of them would probably help her get the sleep that Kristoff kept insisting that she needed.

She flipped open the fisheries proposal. Dense columns of figures swam in front of her eyes. Elsa scratched some notes in the margin and tried to push back her rising irritation. A bureaucrat’s report, and in typically bureaucratic fashion, the author had covered himself by firmly not committing to any course of action. She scrawled “Recommendations??” on the cover of the report in large letters and tossed it into her out-basket.

The letters that Fjersberg had mentioned were neatly placed on top of the rest of the day’s correspondence and dispatches. She glanced at the one from Grand Duke Chapend long enough to ascertain that he wished to send one of his sons to court her. Elsa sighed and tossed the letter into her out-basket, resisting the urge to blast it into oblivion. It wasn’t the first such letter of the dawning spring, and it wouldn’t be the last. Summer was approaching, and that seemed to be the prime hunting season for single noblemen looking to improve their lot through marriage. Kai would deal with it – the young man would visit, present himself at court, have a formal dinner, and then be sent on his way with some vague promises about the Queen considering his suit.

And then the Council would start nagging her all over again.

The idea of a political marriage left Elsa feeling a bit ill. Having to enter into an intimate relationship with a total stranger, with only the hope that it might one day become love, or even just _trust_? She couldn’t even imagine. The specter of Hans Westergard hovered over every interaction she had with her suitors. She would never be able to let down her guard, never be sure that her throne was safe or that her people were cared for.

As for heirs…while she loved children, she wasn’t sure she could have any. Her monthlies were rarely monthly and wildly variable. Both her mother and sister had struggled with childbirth. Why should she expect to be any different, at least in _that_ regard?

Then there were her powers. She knew from her father’s research that there had been queens before her with the same magic. It was part of the Frostahl legend, reaching back nearly a thousand years. But she was the first to be cursed with them in nearly a half-century. Why chance passing them to an innocent child?

No, best they die out with her. 

Besides, she was perfectly happy with the small, odd family that she had right now. She did not need a husband. She had Kristoff and Anna. She had their love, their support. And they provided her with more intimacy than she ever thought she would – or even _could_ – experience. Not for the first time, she wondered what her people thought of their royal family. What other kingdom was ruled by an ice mage with the assistance of her sister, an ice harvester and his reindeer, and a magical snowman with the mind of a child?

_My sister. God, please get better, Anna._

A sharp stab of worry took her breath away. The desire to run to the infirmary to shake Anna awake was almost overwhelming. But Kristoff was there now, and she had promised him that she would try to maintain some semblance of her normal routine. If she showed up, he would make a fuss. Or just march her to her room and order her to try to get some sleep.

Anyone else who tried to do such a thing would get her Snow Queen glare, but Kristoff had proven himself remarkably immune to it.

She slouched in her chair and lay her head on her desk, exhausted. The previous two days had passed in a surreal blur. She had ignored most of her duties and spent hours at Anna’s bedside, hand-in-hand with Kristoff. They alternated leaving to eat and sleep, wanting at least one of them there if ( _when_ , Elsa kept telling herself) Anna woke up. 

But real sleep was elusive. When it did come, it was brief, troubled, and guilt-laden, filled with images of an icy Anna on the frozen fjord. Unable to manage more than a few short naps, she instead spent that time doing what little work she could focus on, or entertaining her nephew with her magic. Jørgen’s delighted laughter as he chased her dancing ice creations around his nursery was the one thing that could make her forget her worries, if just for a brief time.

Then, as if on cue, a woman’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Come _back_ here, you little pagan!”

Her office door flew open and Jørgen scurried in. “Tante!” he cried.

Elsa barely managed to brace herself before he barreled into her. She gathered him close as he climbed into her lap. He threw his little arms around her neck and squeezed.

“Goodness, you’re so strong!” Elsa gasped, prying him from her neck before he could strangle her. He bounced in her lap, and she quickly moved her pens, inkwell, and papers out of his reach. She wasn’t worried about the desk itself – the ancient piece of oak had taken far worse abuse than some spilled ink – but one crucial trade agreement covered in tiny black fingerprints was quite enough. Fortunately, Ambassador Shelby had been good-humored about that whole incident. She’d never heard what the American president thought about it, though.

Olaf burst into her office. The little snowman’s goofy smile couldn’t quite distract from the toy soldier sticking out of his face where his nose should have been. He was followed closely by Hanne, Jørgen’s nanny. Elsa stifled a smile at the panicked expression on Hanne’s round face.

“Another daring escape, my little scamp?” Elsa asked, ruffling the boy’s strawberry-blond curls. He gave her an impish grin that made her heart stutter with its familiarity. _How could I ever have thought I couldn’t love him?_ “Did you steal Olaf’s nose again?”

Jørgen raised his arm, Olaf’s carrot nose clutched triumphantly in his chubby fist. Elsa noted with some relief that there were no bites taken from the carrot. Sven was also prone to stealing Olaf’s nose, and often returned it dripping with reindeer slobber. She didn’t know – nor did she care to ask – how often Olaf changed his carrot. Or even if he changed it at all, since his snowy face and permafrost helped keep it fresh.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Hanne said, dipping into a little curtsey. “He’s very fast. I’m afraid I forget how fast sometimes.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Elsa said. “He takes after his mother. Our nanny couldn’t keep up with her, either.” Jørgen wrinkled his freckled nose. Elsa tweaked it playfully, then held up her fist with her thumb tucked between her index and middle fingers. “Got your nose!”

Jørgen giggled and grabbed for her fist. “Gimme!” 

She held it out of reach. “Trade you for Olaf’s nose.”

“Oh, you don’t have to!” Olaf trundled over to them. “A new look every once in a while is a good thing.” He crossed his eyes at the tin soldier sticking out of his face. “Although I did like my candy cane. It was so colorful! And sugary!”

“It also made you hyper,” Elsa reminded him. She left out the part about him getting lost in the mountains, setting Kristoff’s new sled on fire, and getting chased by hungry wolves. Not to mention coming home with an unhealthy obsession with fruitcake. “The soldier is handsome, but I think he might like to rejoin his unit.” 

“Okay.” Olaf plucked the soldier from his face. “They’re all back here!” He rotated his head. Elsa could now see that there were more than a dozen soldiers camped there. Olaf added his nose-soldier to their ranks.

Elsa gave Jørgen’s nose a little boop. “There!” She held up her open hand. “Can you give Olaf’s nose back?”

Jørgen shoved the carrot point-first into the side of Olaf’s head and shrieked with laughter.

“Oh look, I’ve been impaled again,” Olaf said.

“Come with me, my little imp,” Hanna said, holding her hand out to Jørgen. “We need to get you cleaned up for dinner.”

“No!” Jørgen pouted and threw himself against Elsa. “Want Momma.”

Elsa’s chest ached at his plea. “Soon, honey,” she promised, forcing a smile. She hugged him tight and pressed her face into his hair, breathing in the scents of childish sweat and milky warmth. Would he soon be all she had left of her precious sister? She kissed the top of his head, then set him on the floor. “Go with Nanny. Your Poppa will be waiting to see you.”

“No! Momma!” Jørgen insisted. His pudgy face screwed into a mutinous scowl, a sure harbinger of an oncoming tantrum.

Elsa conjured a tiny snowstorm over her palm. Jørgen’s gaze immediately homed in on it, his tantrum giving way to his fascination. “Magic!” he cried.

“Come on, then.” Elsa stood, holding out her other hand. “I’ll magic you all the way to your Poppa.”

His little fingers curled around one of hers. Olaf grabbed his other hand. Jørgen attempted to swing back and forth between them, and Elsa bit back a yelp as her finger nearly stretched out of joint. Jørgen tumbled to the floor, Olaf’s stick arm still in his grasp.

“I’ve been disarmed!” Olaf said. Jørgen giggled when the snowman’s arm twisted in his hand and poked a finger into his ribs.

“I’ll take him to his father,” Elsa said to Hanne, who was watching the scene with bewilderment. “Why don’t you see to your own supper?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hanne curtsied, a look of faint relief on her face, and hurried away before Elsa could change her mind. Elsa watched her go, wondering for a moment if Hanne would have been able to cope with two young boys instead of just one.

She shook off the uncharitable thought. After all, she and Anna had caused more than one nanny to run screaming for the gates with their shenanigans.

“Horsey, Tante!” Jørgen demanded.

Elsa waved her hands and a hobby horse of ice formed underneath her nephew. A couple more flourishes, and he wore a Viking helmet and wielded a snowy sword. A stamp of her foot sent the tiny warrior careening down the hall on a sheet of ice, his delighted squeals trailing in his wake.

Kristoff came around the corner at the end of the corridor, breaking into a grin when he saw his son speeding toward him on his icy steed. Jørgen swung the sword across Kristoff’s shins, where it exploded into a shower of snowflakes. Kristoff grabbed him off the horse and swung him around in one smooth motion, then hugged him close.

“The snow sword is much better than the ice one,” he said to Elsa. “The last time he did that, I had knots on my shins for days.”

“You and half the staff,” Elsa said with some chagrin. The last sword she’d made for Jørgen had no edges and no sharp point, but she had not anticipated its potential to inflict blunt-force trauma. 

She dissipated the rest of her ice with a gesture. “Any change?” she asked.

She already knew the answer – if anything had changed, Kristoff would have already let her know. Nothing, _nothing_ Elsa was doing at any given time was too important that it could not be interrupted for news about Anna. But the question had become something of a ritual for the two of them; a touchstone for their shared anxiety.

Kristoff shook his head, worry etched into his rugged features. His arms tightened around Jørgen until the boy squawked and wriggled in protest. Kristoff set him down, where he immediately snatched two soldiers from Olaf’s head and started them dueling, his mother forgotten, at least for the moment.

Elsa slipped her hand into Kristoff’s and rested her head against his upper arm. His other arm came around her in a gentle hug, and she felt his lips against her temple. No words were exchanged; they simply drew what strength they could from each other.

Kristoff scooped up Jørgen. “Time for supper, buddy!” he said, forestalling any complaints by flipping the boy upside and blowing a raspberry on his tummy as he carried him down the hall. Elsa couldn’t help a little smile as she watched them.

“Elsa?” Olaf tugged at her skirts. “Is Anna going to be okay?”

An automatic _‘of course’_ sprang to Elsa’s lips. She bit it off when she looked down at Olaf’s earnest face. He loved Anna as much as she and Kristoff; it would be so unfair to lie to him. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to voice her fears to him, either.

Instead, she knelt down beside him. “I hope so, Olaf,” she said, giving him a hug. “I hope so.”

“Can I see her?”

Elsa realized with a start that Olaf had not seen Anna since before she went into labor. She hadn’t even talked to him about it, explained what happened. _Oh, how unfair I’ve been to him!_

“Of course you can, little guy.” 

She took his warm wooden hand in hers, and together they headed for the infirmary.

  
  


*****

* * *

Now the sun was setting again and Elsa remained at Anna’s bedside, ready to spend another night holding her sister’s hand. Olaf had left when Doctor Lindahl came in to examine Anna. The little snowman visibly unnerved the doctor. While Elsa didn’t really care if Olaf made Lindahl nervous – he was part of her family and wasn’t going anywhere – she wanted the doctor’s full attention on Anna. So she sent Olaf to visit Sven, telling him that Sven needed to know about Anna too.

Lindahl remained non-committal, but Elsa could tell he was worried. If Anna didn’t wake up soon, dehydration and lack of food would start taking their toll. Elsa couldn’t bear to think about it – what would she do if something happened to Anna? Her fear seemed almost a physical thing, wrapping around and weighing down on her until she thought her neck and shoulders might snap under the tension. She stroked Anna’s fingers absently as she shifted in the hard chair. 

Kristoff came in and sat beside her, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “Any change?” he asked.

Elsa shook her head. She reached out to touch her sister’s freckled cheek. _I miss you, Anna. Kristoff and Jørgen miss you. We all need you._ She pressed Anna’s hand against her lips.

Anna’s fingers twitched. Elsa jerked her head up to see Anna’s sea-blue eyes flutter open and slowly focus on her.

“Elsa?” Anna’s voice was scratchy and weak.

 _Oh, thank God!_ “We’re here, Anna.” She clutched Anna’s hand in both of her own, resisting the urge to throw her arms around her sister and crush her in a hug. Anna’s hand squeezed hers in response.

Kristoff was around the bed in a flash, kneeling beside Anna and taking her other hand. He brushed her hair back from her face. “Oh Anna…Love…thank goodness.” He rested his forehead against her temple.

“I….” Anna pushed herself up and looked around the room, a puzzled frown wrinkling her brow. “Where – ?” Then her eyes went wide and she gasped, “The baby! I want to see the baby!”

Elsa bit her lip and shot a pained glance at Kristoff. How were they going to tell Anna about the baby?

“I want to see the baby,” Anna repeated. “Do we have a daughter? Another son? Kristoff?”

“Ah…a boy…” Kristoff stammered. “We – we had a son.”

“Another boy?” Anna’s face split into a wide grin. “Where is he? I want to see him.” She pressed an arm across her breasts. “How long have I been asleep? He must be hungry!”

Kristoff’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out. He looked toward Elsa, silently begging for help. Elsa blinked against the sting of fresh tears.

Anna’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, her smile fading. “Kristoff, where is our baby?” she demanded.

Kristoff shook his head, his anguished face saying everything that words couldn’t.

Anna turned toward Elsa. “Elsa…?”

Elsa couldn’t speak, couldn’t bear to douse the glimmer of hope on Anna’s face. She couldn’t tell Anna that her baby came too soon, that he was too small. She couldn’t even say she was sorry. Her throat tightened painfully, smothering her voice as she watched Anna’s hope drain away in the extended silence.

“No…no…it can’t be.” Anna turned back to Kristoff. “Where is he?” she demanded again. He tried to put his arms around her. “No, no, no!” she cried, pushing against him. “Elsa, please!” 

Elsa thought her heart would break at her sister’s desperate, pleading expression. “I’m sorry, Anna,” she whispered, struggling to get the words past the lump in her throat. “I’m so sorry.” 

Anna’s face fell. She sagged against Kristoff. He gathered her into his arms, holding her tight as sobs wracked her slender body.

Her own tears spilling over, Elsa rose to leave. Anna and Kristoff needed to grieve for their child. But Anna’s hand clutched at her sleeve, tugging her toward the bed, and she found herself pulled into their embrace. She wrapped her arms around Anna and stroked her hair, offering what little comfort she could.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in the same 'verse as The Once and Future Queen. It's spun off of a few paragraphs of key journal entries in the later chapters of that fic. I've been struggling with it for a couple of years, and have finally gotten around to it again.
> 
> This is entirely the fault of one of my readers, stillslightlynerdy (elym13 on Tumblr), who saw in those journal entries something I'd never considered. And now here we are.
> 
> The fic is canon-divergent - I started working on it before Frozen 2 was even announced, so for the purposes of this story, the events of F2 never happened.
> 
> Big shout-out to SnowyCrocus, who is my beta, sounding board, and chief bubble-buster, and also shares my love of Ice Bros. I couldn't do this without her.
> 
> Oh yeah - I started posting this fic once before, but rather than adding on to that, I just decided to start fresh. So there are two stories with the same name. Apologies for any confusion.


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